


Summer Stars

by harrielot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1940s, 40s language, Adventure & Romance, Character Development, Coming of Age, Dark Harry, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fanfiction, Harry Styles - Freeform, Harry is a dick, I'm already sick of these characters, Orphanage, Orphans, Prostitution, Protective Harry, Sexism, Slow Burn, Smut, So much angst, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, World War II, harry wouldn't know what love is if it was tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, mature - Freeform, please leave reviews, yes they are both oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-06-29 16:06:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrielot/pseuds/harrielot
Summary: Large hands strangling her wrist.Long fingers tangling through her hair.Crinkled eyes watching her every step.A story about two young orphans going on adventures and falling in love somehow along the way. But it's not so easy when the boy hates her for no reason and the girl is stubborn as a bull.





	1. Irony

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I do not own Harry Styles. This story is a fictional, coming of age piece I created on my own. The character, Harry Styles, in this novel does not pertain to the real him and should not be applied as such. I only considered Harry's physical appearance when creating this character.
> 
> The Harry Styles in this story is incompassionate, manipulative, sexist, and controlling and should not be associated with the real Harry Styles.
> 
> All other characters belong to me as I've created them in my mind.
> 
> This story also contains mature language, underage sexual content, mature themes, and an unhealthy relationship between the main characters.
> 
> If you are not okay with any of those, do not read.
> 
> Thank You.
> 
> (P.S. Don't forget this story takes place in the forties during WW2. The language and mindset were very different then.)

**December** **1939**

Harry Styles understood the concept of irony perfectly.

He understood that his life was one of inane contradictions. He was penniless and owned next to nothing. He occupied a room that wasn't really his, wore clothes that didn't belong to him, and read books that were shared with everyone else. He also knew that he was different than everyone around him. Better in every way imaginable.

He was intelligent, handsome, and powerful. He could get people to do what he wanted with a wide grin on their faces and yet here he was: in a rundown orphanage in the 'bad part' London.

Little Angels Orphanage has been home to Harry since he was born. He certainly would never call it home but that's ultimately was what it was for him.

The building was grey all over. The stone building was grey, the mailbox was grey, the food was grey, and the people inside were grey. It even smelled grey. Simply walking into the cold building was enough to make someone feel hopeless. The children that occupied this particular orphanage were the worst kind. Fat-head, hellions that couldn't tell their right foot from their left and didn't look past the ends of their own crooked noses. Harry felt nauseous from just looking into their cross-eyed, spot infested faces. Even the matron, Miss Smith, was an ugly woman. A bottom-heavy widow with stringy, greying hair and a seemingly permanent nasty sneer on her face.

Miss Smith liked Harry well enough. Well enough to not give him a proper bollocking when he was caught in trouble like she did the other kids that is. Harry could still remember when Charles Turner, one of the older boys, got the belt after he turned up at two in the morning from sneaking out to see a bobby socker across town.

One thing Harry didn't mind about the orphanage, was how easy it was to control the other children. He declared himself the resident 'Schoolmaster' of the orphanage and the other kids accepted it. Miss Smith spent more time drinking than she spent educating the sniveling brats so Harry decided to personally take charge of that duty. Every child under 12 years old had to listen to him. He convinced them that they were all bright stars under his tutelage and they were getting smarter every day. He knew that his words were utter rubbish, for even after teaching them for two years, most of the idiots couldn't read a full sentence nor do a simple multiplication problem.

Those children had no chance once they got out of here. They were sentenced to a life a selling dope or becoming sharecrop on the streets. Not that Harry really cared about them. He knew that once he got out of here, he'd become successful, rich, just as he was supposed to be. He would pass by his old "stars" on the streets and laugh mirthlessly. This place was merely a stepping stone to victory.

He looked forward to the day he could fully take care of himself, and oh what a triumph it would be. Perhaps he would burn this place to the ground once he left (he doubted jail would be much better than the orphanage so he pushed that thought away).

Miss Smith could be useful at times. She referred to Harry as her "kind and handsome young man" when potential parents came to look at the children. Adoption days occurred once a month and were annoying at best. The nights before adoption days were what was truly dreadful. He always had to break up fights over who was getting in the bath first. Girls were tugging each other's hair into messy braids so it would resemble curls the next day and the boys were caught hiding unripped stockings or a left shoe from them. During those mornings, the smell of excessive hair gel from the older boys filled the entire floor and nearly suffocated him. Just thinking about it left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. He was ever grateful that with the war, fewer and fewer parents were financially stable enough to adopt and became more worried about the man of the house going off to die.

Harry had never been truly considered for adoption. In all his nine years of life, not one single parent took a second look at him. He used to wonder if he would've been adopted had the economy been better, if people could _afford_ to care for him. He silently agreed when he heard John Kaffery call them all "rotten bastards". Harry didn't even want to be adopted anymore. He told himself they were all too stupid to see a child with a real future. Or perhaps they recognized that he was independent and wouldn't allow them to pity him (now he was _definitely_ giving them too much credit). They wouldn't know how to handle him.

Worse than adoption days, however, were Sundays. They were more frequent and more unbearable. Every Sunday, patrons of the local church would come to the orphanage and force the children to sit through a kid-friendly excerpt from the Bible. All the orphans had to sit on the dingy, carpeted floor of the entertainment room in a circle and listen to the old nuns. During these tiresome sessions, Harry would block out the nun's drowsy voice and instead took it upon himself to count the number of times Mary Clarke sniffled or James Schubert tapped his worn shoe on the carpet. Harry once tried asking Miss Smith if he could take extra chores during these reading times but she quickly became offended that Harry didn't value this information. Harry knew it was all a load of nonsense but he backed off to stay in her good graces. On the bright side, occasionally, the patrons brought along a donation box filled with toys and books for the children. 

Harry, of course, got first look at all the books and everyone knew not to open the box until Harry pilfered it. 

Today, was one of those Sundays. In fact, it was the Sunday right before Christmas. Harry had just finished his "light lunch", as Miss Smith called it, when the matron approached him.

"Harry," she addressed, tapping his shoulder and motioning for him to follow her into her office where she abruptly plopped down on her wooden chair that screamed and moaned under the added weight. Her small and dark office smelled like liquor and mildew. The air was dense and he could easily hear the dripping of the water pipes. Harry had been in here a few times, usually, he snuck in here without her knowing so he could peak at his files or see if she had anything valuable to take. She never did.

"Yes, Miss Smith?" he questioned with a polite smile, hands interlocking behind his back. He'd be a good boy if it got him what he wanted.

"We have generous family coming in to donate Christmas parcels this evening," he knew that 'generous' meant wealthy and so his ears perked up automatically. "I would really appreciate it if you got all the children into their rooms and cleaned up the entertainment room before they arrive."

Of course, the old bat wanted him to clean all the brats up so she didn't have to. This is what being a favorite entails: "special jobs", as she called them.

"Absolutely, Miss Smith, nothing would make me happier than to help you," Harry replied with a large smile gracing his face.

"Oh thank you boy," she smiled, it made her even more hideous somehow. He internally grimaced when her thick fingers squeezed his shoulder. He was glad that's all she ever did. She was always too warm and clammy, it felt disgusting, he hates being touched. She let him go and reached into the second drawer of her desk where he knew she kept a pack of cigarettes, extra desk supplies, and candy. "Here you go boy, now run along."

She placed a piece of dark chocolate in his hand and shooed him out the door. _This_ was his treat for being a good boy. Chocolate. Not even the good kind with the caramel inside. He scowled and briefly considered going back inside and slugging her in her big nose.

He shoved the piece of chocolate into his pocket and walked back into the eating room. His eyes scanned the room attentively. He noticed a full table of rowdy young boys in the corner and marched over to them. He cleared his throat behind them and they all looked up at him.

"John, Miss Smith requested that you clean the entertainment room as soon as possible. She wants it spotless, a well-to-do family is coming tonight," Harry spoke clearly with a straight voice before he walked back to his table to resume his reading. He needn't wait for an answer, he knew by the look in the boy's eyes that John would do his work. They always did.

-

By the time the sun was down, every child was washed, in clean or semi-clean nightclothes, and the entertainment room was pristine.

The loud rumbling of a motor car could be heard from the street.

Harry peered out the small window near his wardrobe. He watched as a family of three steps out of their _own_ car. They must be very wealthy, he decided. He would like to buy his own car one day. He turned back to his book and sent a deadly glare at the pages. He listened as Miss Smith opened the door and led the family inside. He'd bet anything that she coerced some of the older orphan boys into carrying the parcels the family brought. His ears picked up the steady clack of heels on the wooden floor everywhere the visitors went.

Not 20 minutes later, Harry threw his book down on his bed. He couldn't concentrate when there was such commotion right outside his door. He got up quietly and cracked his door open to see the family walking down the hallway in the direction of his room. There was a beautiful couple and a young girl holding the mother's hand. The woman has dark brown hair perfectly styled in victory rolls. She wore a knee-length, powder blue dress and a large, brown fur coat. The man next to her looked tall and smart in a grey three-piece suit with his short brown hair parted to the side and gelled over in waves, much like Harry's own. 

They _exuded_ power, Harry could practically smell the lettuce in their wallets. This is what he deserved. This is the life he's supposed to live.

They went into every room with beautifully wrapped gifts, returning just minutes later with a smile gracing their faces. As they neared his room, Harry pulled the door all the way open to welcome them in.

"How do you do?" he greeted the straight-cut woman with a charming smile, bowing his head to the father. They looked even more expensive up close. He could see the woman's pearl necklace glitter in the dim hallway.

"How do you do?" she returned and they let themselves into his small room. It felt cluttered with three extra people in it. He leaned against his wardrobe as she prattled on. "This is my husband Michel," she declared, gesturing to the tall man that was looking around the room. "I'm Carol, and this is our daughter, Prudence," she continued, gently nudging her daughter towards Harry. He nearly snickered at the girl's name. It wasn't shocking that a rich family gave their child a Puritan virtue name, but it was amusing nonetheless. Virtue names were quite typical these days, he supposed. Besides, Harry didn't have any room to talk about names when his own was also common. There was even another boy named Harry in this very orphanage. 

Their daughter was very plain looking, nothing to give a second glance in passing. She adorned a knee-length lavender dress with a white middy blouse and pristine Mary-Janes on top of crisp white socks. If Harry looked at her face long enough she'd become ugly. She had dark hair tied back into a chignon with a white ribbon, showing off the diamond studs in her ears. Her nose was small and upturned making her look prissy. Her eyes were too big for her face and the smile she offered him was crooked.

"Here," she said, thrusting the parcel at him. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon around it. It looked like the presents Harry saw in the Yule picture books as a child before he taught himself how to read. He took it kindly and looked up. He felt uncomfortable opening it in from of them but that was obviously what they wanted. They wanted to see his reaction to their oh so gracious charity. He nearly gagged. They only give away gifts to poor children to make themselves look better to their rich friends. It sounded pessimistic of Harry but it was the truth.

He unwrapped the parcel and opened the box meticulously, completely aware of the three sets of eyes burning him. Inside the box, there contained three new books, one of which is a small Bible unsurprisingly, a set of cards, a matchbox car, a pack of the _good_ chocolate, and a nice fountain pen. The contents are...modestly valuable, so he gave them a bright smile.

"Wow, thank you so much. No one has ever been so kind to me," Harry spoke, muttering the last sentence and looking at the floor. The family all looked at him with pity in their eyes and expressed how glad they were to help such a nice young man.

"We hope to make it again in the future, it was lovely meeting you," said Carol as they made to leave with their ever-present smiles.

The younger girl turned back before walking out of the room and cheerily exclaimed, "Happy Christmas!"

As soon as the door shut he glowered at the ring in her voice but quickly took his box to his bed to dissect. He spilled the contents onto his bed and opened the pack of chocolates, he didn't care that he hasn't had dinner yet, Miss Smith wasn't around to berate him after all. He broke open the chocolate bar and saw caramel ooze out. He allowed himself a slight grin before schooling his features. Satisfied, he nibbled on the chocolate while trying to figure out how to use the fancy fountain pen without spilling ink on himself.

He didn't often get things that he didn't have to share with the other orphans so this was exciting, to say the least. He wondered where to hide his things so if another brat came snooping for his new objects after they break their own, they wouldn't find his. The other children knew better than to come into his room, but extra precaution was always welcome as far as Harry was concerned.

Harry barely managed to neatly write the alphabet on a crisp sheet of paper when his door was pushed open again. The young girl from before waltzed right in, clutching a book to her chest, as though she belonged here. The insolence! 

"Hello," she greeted, closing the door behind her and going to sit at the end of his bed. His jaw mentally dropped at her audacity.

"May I help you?" he replied, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Prudence looked at him and sent him a timid smile at his tone, "do you like your new toys?"

"They're not toys," _you_ _stupid_ _girl_ , he added in his head.

"Sorry...but do you like them, Harry? I asked Miss Smith about you and she told me your name was Harry Styles. She told me you read a lot. I also like to read. My mother said I'm very advanced for my age. What about you Harry Styles? What do you like to read?" she babbled on and on. Her voice was going to make his head explode. Her voice was like a bell, you hear it once from afar and it's fine, but hearing it violently rattled right next to his ear over and over was quickly giving him a headache.

He also didn't like that she knew his last name and he didn't know hers. She was already one step ahead of him. If this were a game, she would have the upper hand. Not acceptable.

"That's none of your business." Normally, Harry would be playing the 'good boy' role, but he decided he didn't need to be nice to her if she wasn't going to give him any more gifts and taking her gift back already will make her look cheesy.

She frowned at him. He looked away from her ugly face.

"How old are you?" 

She was determined if nothing else, he'd give her that. Pointy chin jutted out stubbornly, but eyes still holding warmth and curiosity. Perhaps he would play along if only to get back the metaphorical upper hand. 

"Nine, what's your Christian name?"

"Gallois, it's French. I'm seven by the way," he didn't ask. "What's your favorite color?"

"None of your business, now amscray, I want to read," he said, pulling the new book out of his box, titled _The_ _Adventures_ _of_ _Huckleberry_ _Finn_ , it looked like a children's book to him, he flipped it over to read the back. If all the orphans got the same things in their parcels, they certainly would have no use for this. 

"You're very rude you know," she said matter-of-factly but didn't move to leave, instead she rested her back against the wall and pulled out another copy of the same book that Harry was gifted. He mentally heaved a sigh. Leave it to a straight-laced, rich girl to be so disrespectful. She should be acting like a proper lady.

"Get out," he demanded, his voice dropping as much as it could without breaking. He placed his book on the bed between them.

"Are you always so mean?" she asked instead of listening.

"Do you always wear diamond earrings?" he mocked. She sat up confused and reached a hand up to twist her earring around.

"Only on special occasions."

"And what's the special occasion?"

"Visiting the poor orphans of course."

He ripped the crisp, new book right out of her hand and opens it. Her chin nearly met her chest.

"Get out!" he commanded again, evil sneer taking over his features.

"No," she challenged, trying to regain composure. Dirt-brown eyes narrowed at him stubbornly, hair coming loose from her ribbon.

He tore a page out with a satisfying rip. She looked mortified. He smirked. He ripped out two more pages from the middle.

"Stop! I'm telling my parents about this!" she squawked, lunging for the book that he held just out of her reach.

"You're going to tell them the poor orphan boy destroyed your book when you've been nothing but kind to him?" he taunted, flashing her his best innocent expression. She was now absolutely livid as she stretched for her book again.

He sat up and peeled out two more pages before he heard footsteps near the door. He let her capture the book from him.

By the time her mother and father walked in, she was on her knees above him, fury in her eyes, holding a torn-up book. Harry was looking back at her with faux horror written all over his face.

"Prudence! What are you doing?!" her mother screeched, in much the same manner her daughter did.

"Mother-" she started, climbing off the bed, taking Harry's book with her.

"Get over here now Prudence," her father demanded in a stern voice. She meandered over to him with her head down in shame.

"I'm so sorry ma'am! I must have provoked her somehow. I asked her what her favorite color was and she lost the plot! Started yelling and tearing up my lovely new book," Harry sputtered, looking at the papers all over his bed. "I can tape it back together if you'd like."

"Certainly not, boy, Prudence will be giving you her copy. We are terribly sorry for her outburst," the father said, looking embarrassed of their daughter's _incident_. "Apologize, Prudence."

She hesitated but nonetheless stepped forward and muttered, "I'm very sorry for my outburst."

"Now give him your copy," Prudence's head swung back around and she gawked at her father's request, he gave her a look that clearly read 'do what I say'.

She reluctantly handed over her book and went to stand next to her father again.

The mother gave him a pat on the shoulder and both parents wished him a happy Christmas before leaving. As soon as the door closed he lay back down on the bed looking positively chuffed.

-

**September** **1940**

It was only nine months later when he saw Prudence again.

And he had to admit, this time it was much more satisfying.

He was eating dinner which consisted of some small portion of salty meat and soggy potatoes when he saw Miss Smith guiding the girl to her office.

This time she didn't look so pristine and proper. Not at all. This time she looked even uglier. She wore boy's jeans and a loose jumper with socks but no shoes. No squeaky clean Mary-Janes. She carried a dirty bag over her shoulder filled to the brim with items. She had a big gash on her forehead and a cut on her lip. It was clear she had been sobbing her too-big eyes out. Her hair was wild and sprung out in tangled curls around her face making him wonder how she ever tamed it in the first place.

She disappeared from sight when Mrs. Smith led her into her office so he turned back to his food. Harry ate alone at every meal, which he liked, the other tables were completely filled so that no one had to sit next to him. The meals at the orphanage were sustainable at the best of times, he never had anything particularly _good_ but he also had nothing to compare it to (other than chocolate).

He imagined meals from expensive restaurants would taste decadent and rich. He would find out someday.

About half an hour later, he heard the sound of the door creaking and looked back up.

Prudence walked out of Miss Smith's office dressed in a white blouse under a grey pinafore with white socks and black shoes. The uniforms were grey. She was grey.

A genuine smile graced his features, oh the irony.


	2. Newcomer

**September** **1940**

She walked into an area that contained about 30 odd children eating at wobbly, wooden tables.

She could see the smoke drifting in from the kitchen and her nose curled. To Prudence, the warm air smelled like burnt meat and sadness. She carefully scanned the tables in the room that were all filled with skinny children dressed in uniforms similar to her own. The children looked akin to skeletons and she briefly wondered how their twig-like legs supported them. Their cheeks were sunken in and their joints protruded even through their clothing. 

Most of the boys wore black slacks and white collared shirts with the girls adorning white blouses and grey dresses. She thought the colors seemed depressing. What child could thrive in this environment? But then she doubted _thriving_ was really what they were going for, surviving seemed to be key here. 

The tables were rowdy with chatter and gossip. She saw a few girls in the corner throwing her curious glances. She spotted a boy sitting at a table all by himself parallel to the doors. She walked over to him.

"May I sit here?" she asked, her voice cracking from not being used. Her sandpaper throat felt like it was bleeding. Her tongue was all shriveled up. She swallowed hard.

The boy turns around and her puffy eyes widened. Of course, the demon boy ate alone. She looked around the room again before she took a chair across from him without waiting for a reply; there was nowhere else to sit.

"No book today, Orphan?" he mocked with a voice that seemed way too deep for a boy his age.

He was beautiful, sadly. He had short, chocolate curls that were softly gelled to the side. She doubted the green of his eyes was even on the color spectrum. She had never seen it before. It was like a swirling mix of jade and elegant emerald. His full, pink lips danced in an even smile that caused dimples to crater his cheeks and crinkles to crease his eyes. His teeth were straight and pearlescent. His nose was long and model straight. His honey skin glowed, dewy and clear. He was like an oil painting. He didn't deserve a face like that.

She tried to tell herself that he wasn't really _that_ beautiful. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light. She convinced herself that his smile was too toothy and looked too fake. Like he took someone else's smile and plastered it on his own. She imagined that his hair was greasy and stringy instead of the perfect curls reality gifted. She tells herself that his skin was scarred and bumpy. If not true, then just to make herself feel better. A demon boy shouldn't look like an angel, after all. 

"Drive it in the hanger," she mumbled, putting her arms on the sticky table and burying her face in them.

She wanted to go home. She wanted her mum and dad. She wanted to lay on the floor of the parlor while her parents talked about work or what was in the paper that day. She longed for her mother to tame her righteous curls in the morning before school and brush it out before bed. She yearned to sit on her father's knee while he read through files from the hospital.

She wondered how many other kids in this orphanage wound up here after the bombings took their families

It wasn't fair. Her family was amazing. They were kind and selfless people. They didn't deserve to die.

The Luftwaffe started daily bombing in London at the beginning of September. It was on the 15th of September when they hit Prudence's neighborhood.

 _She_ _and_ _her_ _parents_ _were_ _visiting_ _her_ _friend_ _Margaret's_ _house,_ _the_ _young_ _girls_ _were_ _playing_ _with_ _her_ _new_ _dolls_ _when_ _it_ _started._

 _Sirens_ _started_ _going_ _off_ _across_ _the_ _town._ _Margaret_ _and_ _Prudence's_ _mothers_ _were_ _outside_ _in_ _the_ _garden_ _when_ _the_ _explosions_ _started._ _A_ _blast_ _knocked_ _all_ _of_ _them_ _across_ _the_ _room,_ _glass_ _shattered_ _and_ _shrapnel_ _shot_ _through_ _holes_ _in_ _the_ _wall._ _Debris_ _quickly_ _filled_ _the_ _room_ _and_ _thick_ _dust_ _made_ _it_ _hard_ _to_ _breathe._

_Margaret's_ _father_ _rushed_ _the_ _children_ _into_ _the_ _cellar_ _to_ _take_ _cover._ _Her_ _father_ _ran_ _outside_ _to_ _look_ _for_ _her_ _mother_ _and_ _that_ _was_ _the_ _last_ _time_ _she_ _saw_ _him._ _Prudence_ _screamed_ _and_ _cried_ _the_ _whole_ _night,_ _she_ _felt_ _like_ _she_ _was_ _suffocating_ _in_ _the_ _small_ _cellar,_ _waiting_ _for_ _god_ _knows_ _what._ _She_ _wailed_ _to_ _be_ _let_ _out_ _so_ _she_ _could_ _help_ _her_ _parents._ _The_ _only_ _thing_ _she_ _heard_ _all_ _night_ _was_ _the_ _sound_ _of_ _bombs_ _raining_ _down_ _nonstop_ _and_ _her_ _own_ _hiccuping_ _sobs._ _She_ _just_ _wanted_ _to_ _hug_ _her_ _mother_ _and_ _have_ _her_ _whisper_ _in_ _her_ _ear_ _telling_ _her_ _everything_ _would_ _be_ _alright._ _She_ _wanted_ _to_ _hear_ _a_ _lullaby._

 _Margaret_ _was_ _bleeding_ _profusely_ _from_ _the_ _back_ _of_ _her_ _head_ _where_ _it_ _was_ _slammed_ _on_ _the_ _floor._ _The_ _ribbon_ _in_ _her_ _hair_ _was_ _soaked_ _red._ _Her_ _father_ _held_ _a_ _cloth_ _to_ _the_ _back_ _of_ _her_ _head._

 _The_ _last_ _thing_ _Prudence_ _recalled_ _was_ _the_ _sound_ _of_ _gurgled_ _screams_ _before_ _her_ _world_ _went_ _silent._

_She_ _woke_ _up_ _in_ _the_ _hospital_ _a_ _day_ _later._

 _The_ _doctors_ _told_ _her_ _it_ _was_ _a_ _miracle_ _she_ _was_ _still_ _alive._

 _They_ _also_ _told_ _her_ _that_ _her_ _parents_ _were_ _blown_ _up._

 _A_ _social_ _worker_ _came_ _and_ _told_ _her_ _she_ _didn't_ _have_ _any_ _family_ _left_ _due_ _to_ _the_ _'conditions'_ _of_ _the_ _war._

 _She_ _wondered_ _if_ _Margaret_ _was_ _still_ _alive,_ _she_ _wondered_ _if_ _Margaret's_ _family_ _cat_ _was_ _still_ _alive._

 _She_ _was_ _given_ _old_ _donated_ _clothing_ _(minus_ _shoes_ _because_ _apparently,_ _they_ _were_ _out)_ _that_ _didn't_ _fit_ _and_ _put_ _in_ _the_ _back_ _of_ _a_ _taxi._ _The_ _driver_ _took_ _her_ _and_ _her_ _social_ _worker_ _to_ _her_ _former_ _home_ _to_ _collect_ _some_ _of_ _her_ _items_ _to_ _take_ _to_ _the_ _orphanage._

 _Her_ _large_ _blue_ _house_ _was_ _mostly_ _still_ _intact,_ _the_ _right_ _side_ _of_ _the_ _house_ _was_ _crumbled_ _and_ _the_ _roof_ _had_ _chunks_ _missing._ _The_ _whole_ _neighborhood_ _was_ _smoky_ _and_ _covered_ _in_ _rubble._ _She_ _wondered_ _why_ _they_ _even_ _brought_ _her_ _here_ _right_ _after_ _a_ _bombing._ _Was_ _this_ _even_ _safe?_

 _She_ _walked_ _up_ _the_ _stairs_ _to_ _her_ _bedroom._ _It_ _was_ _similar_ _to_ _how_ _she_ _left_ _it._ _Except_ _for_ _the_ _wall_ _across_ _from_ _her_ _bed_ _that_ _was_ _now_ _crumbled._ _Covering_ _her_ _room_ _in_ _drywall_ _and_ _dust._ _She_ _grabbed_ _her_ _piggy_ _bank_ _and_ _shoved_ _it_ _into_ _the_ _dirty_ _bag_ _she_ _was_ _given._ _She_ _plucked_ _her_ _favorite_ _dress_ _from_ _her_ _wardrobe_ _and_ _four_ _salvageable_ _books_ _from_ _her_ _wrecked_ _bookshelf._ _She_ _grabbed_ _the_ _ribbon_ _her_ _mother_ _always_ _put_ _in_ _her_ _hair_ _and_ _the_ _diamond_ _earrings_ _she_ _kept_ _hidden_ _in_ _her_ _vanity._

 _She_ _walked_ _down_ _the_ _ruined_ _hallway_ _into_ _her_ _parent's_ _room_ _and_ _saw_ _that_ _it_ _was_ _mostly_ _destroyed._ _Her_ _vision_ _became_ _blurry_ _again._ _She_ _quickly_ _grabbed_ _a_ _pearl_ _necklace_ _she_ _knew_ _her_ _mother_ _was_ _partial_ _to_ _and_ _her_ _father's_ _favorite_ _gold_ _cufflinks._ _She_ _sprinted_ _out_ _of_ _the_ _house_ _with_ _burning_ _lungs._

She looked down at the table where she saw an unbroken stream of liquid rolling off her cheeks and splatter against the table like rain on a windshield. A lump formed in her throat.

She was all alone.

It reminded her of the time she ran off in the Natural History Museum when she was on a trip with her parents in London. She ran off to see the new blue whale skeleton, she was so excited and her parents were taking too long looking at the other exhibits. She told herself she would go see it and run right back to them. She didn't realize how big the museum was until she looked around and her parents were nowhere in sight. She had never felt so scared and alone.

She started crying and her heart began pounding in her ears. She looked around for what felt like hours before she asked a security guard to help her. By the time they found her parents she was sniffling and wiping her snotty nose into the guard's kerchief. It was one of the scariest things she ever experienced.

This was like that times a thousand.

She was angry at the war, she was angry at the doctors, she was angry at the stupid matron!

And now here she was, sitting at a rickety old table with a boy who's the devil reincarnated with no parents and only two trinkets to remember them.

She couldn't even believe what her life had just become.

Just a week ago she was begging her father to let her get a pet turtle. She swore she would help take care of it and clean its cage. She was drinking hot milk with her mother in the kitchen after she had a bad dream. She was playing with her friends from school in the backyard.

And now she was living a nightmare. Completely and utterly alone.

She glanced up to the other person sitting at the table. He surprisingly didn't say another word to her and just went back to eating his meal. She wasn't hungry.

She didn't think she would ever eat again.

-

Two weeks later, Prudence established a routine at the orphanage. Her chores mainly consisted of attending Harry's 'school lessons' in the mornings, doing the laundry in the afternoon, and helping out in the kitchen before dinner. Prudence thought the tasks were sexist and degrading but she never said anything. And she did have to admit, Harry was a pretty good teacher, if not slightly severe.

Harry ignored her whenever he could. He let Prudence sit at his lunch table most days but kicked her out if she started talking or if he just wasn't in the mood to see her.

In the beginning, she refused to eat her meals which Harry promptly berated her for. He told her she was stupid and selfish for passing up a meal. The rationing in Europe got increasingly stricter and you never knew what days you'd get a meal and what days you wouldn't.

Hence why Harry ate as much as he could at every meal because he didn't know how long it would be before he got another one. Judging by his jutting elbows and wrists, she believed him.

So she ate. If not because she was hungry, then to shut the boy up.

The food was insipid. Most days she questioned if it was actually edible. Since meat, sugar, cheese, and butter were rationed heavily, most of their dinners consisted of fruits and starchy vegetables. She started questioning how many ways one could actually prepare a potato.

She tried to make friends with the other girls in the orphanage and even got along seemingly well with one girl named Nancy O'Kelly. The blonde girl had a funny Irish accent and was nice enough. She wasn't the brightest girl on earth but at least she didn't give Prudence any glares as all the other girls seemed to.

Prudence didn't see Harry most of the day other than at meals and learning time. Girls and boys had different chores and she assumed that he slunk off to his room right after he finished them.

She wondered if he was avoiding her.

She shared a room with four other girls. Two older ones and two younger ones. They all ignored her, except Nancy. They all slept on thin, identical cots with a single pillow and one tattered blanket. She tried not to think about how many girls had used this bed before her, though she did turn her pillowcase inside out as soon as she got her bed. Her roommates snickered at her. After seeing a small bloodstain on the bottom of her dress she realized she would have to get over the concept of being clean at all times. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Another thing she didn't particularly like was that there were only two small bathrooms upstairs for the children to use, one for boys and one for girls, meaning, that using the bathroom in the morning was like a war in and of itself.

She would get used to it.

 _The_ _human_ _body_ _can_ _get_ _used_ _to_ _anything_ _if_ _given_ _enough_ _time._

-

 **November** **1940**

October passed quickly enough. Everyday sort of blurred together for Prudence.

She frequently had nightmares about her parents dying and shot awake in the middle of the night crying her heart out with no way of going back to sleep. She was too scared of getting caught to sneak into the kitchen for hot milk or even use the bathroom to clean up.

Her chores became more and more bearable and the other kids left her alone if she didn't talk to them. She usually completed her chores of the day and immediately went to lay down and reread the same four books in bed.

London was becoming frigid and a pillowy layer of white now rested on the backyard like a down blanket. The orphanage was screaming cold and the only fireplace resided in the dining room. She now wore thin cotton stockings under her pinafore, they didn't provide much warmth and she cursed herself for not packing her wool stockings, but it's better than going bare legged. She found if she woke up at five in the morning, there wasn't anyone in the bathroom and she could warm up with a hot bath.

Late November, Nancy finally convinced her to go to the entertainment room to play a game of whist after they finished laundry duty.

In the room, Prudence's black shoes sunk into the carpet and she did **not** think about the tiny pests that were probably burrowing in it for shelter. There were two small bookshelves against the far wall and two plaid chairs near the windows. Three round tables sat on the other side of the room next to a large bin of miscellaneous toys and a small cupboard.

One of the older kids perched on the floor against the wall writing in a notebook. Two of the tables were occupied by younger kids drawing and playing with miniature metal cars. Prudence's eyes widened when she saw that one of the plaid chairs was taken by her lunch mate who was fixated on a large book.

She internally debated whether or not to go over to him while Nancy looked for a pack of cards.

He would probably be rude to her and she might even be graced with a snarky comment but saying hello would be the polite thing to do.

She walked forward.

"Hello Harry," she greeted, looking at the cover of the book he was still focused on. Surprisingly, _The Illiad_ sat between his deft fingers. She had never read that one. "How's your book?"

He didn't answer, just kept reading contently as if she had never even spoken. She wasn't sure why she bothered to be nice to him when he clearly didn't deserve it.

Maybe there was something about him that drew her in, but she liked to believe it was her stubbornness. 

"Pru! C'mon I found the cards," she heard Nancy call from across the library.

Harry finally looked up just before she turned to walk away. She politely nodded her head in his direction and trotted back to Nancy, feeling eyes on her the whole way.

-

 **December** **1940**

It was Prudence's fourth month at the orphanage.

Nothing had changed with Harry since the Library Episode, as she called it. He still didn't let her speak during meals and he still disappears into his room for most of the day. Nancy questioned her when she saw who Prudence was talking to. Prudence said she just wanted to borrow Harry's book. Nancy left it at that.

Today was her third adoption day.

None of the visitors considered her during their previous visits and she was beginning to think nobody wanted her. She assumed it was because she always looked half-dead. She knew she was paler than normal and she had dark circles shadowing her eyes. She didn't bother to do anything with her hair and she refused to act like a poor orphan for pity.

When Miss Smith saw her behavior last adoption day, Prudence was pulled to the side and scolded for being 'ungrateful'. Needless to say, the matron didn't like Prudence and Prudence didn't like the matron.

It wasn't that she wanted to be adopted, because she didn't- she would never call anyone Mum or Dad again. It wouldn't be right- but, it didn't feel good to be _unwanted_.

So today she decided to make an effort.

She jerked her hair back into a braid. Without the careful hands of her mother, her hair kept popping loose and she always seemed to miss a piece. She allowed herself to briefly cry in frustration.

After getting her hair into an attractive enough french braid with her white ribbon tied at the end, she washed the tears and exhaustion from her face- as much as she could at least.

When the guests arrived, she went downstairs and waited in a line with the other orphans while they were examined like cattle. A polite smile replaced the routinely vacant expression on her face.

This time, the stock coming to look at them consisted of a single mother who just lost her only daughter and an older couple who's sons joined the war effort. They stopped down the line multiple times to talk to different orphans.

By the time the mother passes Prudence, her legs were getting restless and she felt lightheaded.

Both potential parents greeted Prudence and asked questions like:

"When did you arrive at the orphanage?"

"Did you attend school before you arrived here?"

"What were your parents like?"

"What are some of your hobbies?"

By the end of the two hours, Prudence wanted nothing more than to go lie in her cot. She wasn't sure what these questions even had to do with being adopted. Would they not adopt her if she didn't have advantageous hobbies?

She hated this.

Just when she could finally collapse into bed to sleep, Miss Smith called Prudence into her office. She worried that she had done something to get herself into trouble. She hadn't stepped a metaphorical foot out of line. Right?

Well, she didn't _always_ peel the potatoes completely but she wouldn't get into trouble because of that would she?

 _Oh god_ , she was going to get in trouble because of the potatoes.

She gnawed on her bottom lip and slowed her steps behind the matron. She debated running back upstairs and hiding somewhere she wouldn't be found. Maybe the cupboard in the enterta-

"I believe congratulations are in order," the matron spoke with a happy smile, startling Prudence out of her head.

When did they arrive in her office? And what in the world was she talking about?

"Congratulations? For what, Miss Smith?" Prudence asked, letting go of her bottom lip and looking around the office.

"A family wants to adopt you."  
  


author's note:  
okay, the two most boring chapters are out of the way and the story can finally pick up.   
thank you for reading! please feel free to leave constructive comments/reviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Orange Marmalade

**February** **1941**

Harry reveled in the peace and quiet that followed the absence of the annoying girl.

For the last two months, his meals have been tranquil. No beady eyes boring into him like pins. No huffing when she's told to roll up her flaps. No smell of orange marmalade slathered on thin toast. He considered the feat a birthday gift.

The day after she found out she was getting adopted, she told Harry over breakfast in a dejected tone. He decided she looked way too upset for someone who was about to be adopted into a seemingly nice, upper-middle-class family. Prudence was ungrateful. Children their age weren't adopted often as many parents wanted babes they could manipulate into believing were birthed from them. In all of Harry's time at the orphanage, he had only seen about three children over seven years old get adopted.

Knowing this, Miss Smith also seemed to give up on the children after they turn seven. She cared less about grooming them into proper ladies and gentlemen for adoption days and instead used them as workers around the orphanage. The younger kids did chores around the building and after the orphan turned 14, Miss Smith took them out on the town to help them get a real job. Harry knew a few of the older boys worked with mechanics downtown and hoped he wasn't fated for that abject misery.

Harry gave Prudence a blank look as she bid him farewell later that day. She walked out wearing the same outfit she walked in with, although instead of sadness on her face, this time there was just apprehension.

-

"No, look you're _squaring_ it, not multiplying it by two! For God's sake, how hard it that?"

It was a snowy Tuesday and Harry was frustrated to no end. His 'students' just couldn't grasp the concept of exponents and he was about to lose his mind. If an eight-year-old Harry could teach himself this lesson from an old, shredded math textbook, these 12-year-olds should have no problem.

Especially with such a capable teacher.

He told himself not to get frustrated as it caused a negative reaction among his students, even more so with the older ones. He blamed hormones for that. The boys usually got angry along with him and the girls were usually so sensitive as to burst into tears. He thought it was quite pathetic.

In the back of his mind, he knew Prudence would have no problem understanding this, in fact, she probably already knew it. She probably had the quadratic formula memorized, she was annoyingly smart like that.

In the few short months he taught her, he never had a problem, though one time, she did point out a mistake he made on his small, handheld chalkboard when rounding his numbers.

He kicked her out of that lesson.

Stupid, know-it-all.

-

Chores at the orphanage remained as tedious as ever after the girl left. Another girl took over her duties and life continued as though she never even existed. He did notice one blonde girl looking uncharacteristically downtrodden.

For someone as intelligent as Harry, the task of dishwashing was degrading. And don't even get him started on lavatory duty.

The one thing Harry did like about chores was the routine it provided him. Routines made everything so simple. He could do his assigned chores without concentration so he could think about things he actually cared about; like himself.

He had time to think about many things like how to attain success, his own views on the war, and most importantly at the moment, how to get Georgie Argell back for stealing the last piece of butter cake.

On the first point, he wasn't exactly sure how to become successful, but he had some ideas. Connections were obviously the most important part, you had to know the right people. It was one of the reasons Harry was civil to everyone he met and didn't say what he truly thought. He didn't want to be on the bad side of someone who could help him get to where he wanted to go.

Harry didn't know much about what was going on in the war despite being in the middle of it. The orphanage didn't keep newspapers supplied for the kids so when he snuck into Miss Smith's office he read the most recent ones. He knew that the German Blitz was still in full swing in Britain and has been since September when Prudence showed up.

Even for Harry, it got hard to read the papers and see thousands more dead following nighttime raids. Most recently in the paper, were the Plymouth and Portsmouth blitzes that left thousands dead and even more injured. Thousands of children were being sent away from their parents to keep them safe. He tried to not think about it as much as possible.

As for the last point, yes, he was trying to get back at another orphan for taking _his_ slice of butter cake on _h_ _is_ birthday a few weeks ago- which, if you've ever had margarine cake, you'd understand was a delicacy. A dead rat slipped under Georgie's pillow should do the trick. There were always some decaying ones in the basement whenever Harry lurked down there. Perhaps inside the pillowcase, so he didn't find it right away, but he would smell it. He decided that should work just fine.

Harry's thoughts didn't wander often, his brain was trained to stay focused on the most pressing issues. Recently though, another person had been slipping into his thoughts and taking a holiday there.

**March** **1941**

It was only five weeks later when she came back.

Surprised, Harry nearly burst out laughing at the abashed expression on her face when she walked up to his table for dinner.

She didn't look particularly _good_ , but then again, she never really did. She was back in the Little Angels uniform, but it fit a little tighter than before. Her hair was as messy as he remembered though. 

She _should_ be embarrassed, he thought, never in the history of Little Angles Orphanage had a child ever been returned. When a child was taken, another kid took over their duties, their bed quickly became occupied by someone else, and the memories of them faded sooner or later. They were never seen again and the rest of the orphans could only fill in the blanks with their own imaginations about what happened to them. Now, he was curious as to what the girl had done to wind up back here.

"Back so soon, Prudence?" he mocked, watching as her eyes narrowed at him and she flushed deeper.

"I missed it, so I decided to come back," she lied whilst sticking her nose up in the air and jutting her chin out defiantly. If it wasn't obvious by the shifty eyes and fidgety hands that she was lying, the statement surely would have given her away. Anywhere was better than the orphanage; no one just 'decided to come back'.

"Right...So why did your adopters return you?" In all likelihood, she was back for being a pain in the arse. If Harry was a better person, he could probably sympathize with her adoptive parents. Just looking at Prudence became annoying after a while. She was too brash, too stubborn, too _everything_.

Her face went red again at his question. Really, she didn't hate her new 'brood' as she referred to them (because they certainly weren't her family), but they didn't suit her.

Prudence didn't want to be judgmental, but the couple was just _so_ boring. All they wanted to do was have tea as a 'family' and talk about politics. They were friendly and kept her overly well-fed (she was sure she gained at least two stone in the three short months she was there), but being over 60 years old, they were too old to keep up with Prudence. They couldn't play outdoor games with her, they could hardly walk up a large flight of stairs, and worst of all, they couldn't see why a girl wanted an education.

In conclusion, Prudence didn't consider it a tragedy when the husband had a heart attack that left him in the hospital and unable to work for an indefinite amount of time. Without the 'man of the house' around to provide, the wife sadly told Prudence she had to return her to the orphanage so she could focus on her husband's health.

Prudence wished them well, but was glad to get out of the stuffy house that would never be home.

"They became unable to care for me and I choose to leave it at that," she replied, not in the mood to discuss the mundane conversations held in the small parlor or the sexist stereotypes she was subjected to.

Thankfully, Harry let her dismiss the topic.

"So, what have you been doing while I was gone?" she forked through the grey substance on her dinner tray. That was one thing she did miss about her previous dwelling; the cuisine.

She didn't actually think Harry would respond so she was surprised when he dryly said, "tormenting the other orphans, deliberating the outcome of the war, and planning how to take down major corporations from the inside."

Prudence actually managed a smile at his joke and almost laughed at his expressionless face.

"I see you've been busy then."

"No."

"Oh..."

An awkward silence pervaded the area. Harry didn't seem to notice, but Prudence nearly cringed. He went back to eating and the sound of metal clacking became the only noise coming from their table, along with Harry's occasional slurping.

If Prudence had seen Harry on the street or at a shop she would have assumed he'd come from a nice, upper-class family. Around others, he was well mannered and carried himself with natural grace. Watching Harry slurp his food and slouch over the table was a fantastic juxtaposition to that image. He wasn't sloppy or gross to watch, but he didn't follow proper dinner table etiquette like she saw enforced at dinners with her family's colleagues. She supposed he never learned table manners and Prudence decided she appreciated that; she liked the reminder that he wasn't perfect.

"Have you read any new books lately then?" her voice sliced through the silence like butter when the quiet became too overwhelming and uncomfortable for her.

"Yes. I've read five since you were gone," was Harry's short response- he really wasn't partial to small talk. He wanted to eat and go back to his room to read his new book that was recently donated.

"How do you find so much time to read, Harry? Don't you have chores?"

"Of course I have chores, I just finish them before everyone else and return to my room." And it was true, the other idiots all dilly-dallied around and complained about doing their duties rather than just completing them. If they followed instructions quickly and efficiently, they'd have as much free time as Harry.

"Why _do_ you have your own room, Harry?" Prudence had been wondering this for a while and it still didn't make sense. Sure, Harry's room was smaller than the shared rooms, but Prudence would certainly take it if it meant she didn't have to have four roommates who talked loudly at night and stole each other's belongings.

"Because I'm Miss Smiths favorite; I'm better than everyone else," Harry haughtily replied. It wasn't completely true. He had his own room because he had problems with his old roommates. Problems that made the other orphans too afraid to sleep in a room with him. That wasn't what they told Miss Smith though, no they told the matron Harry deserved his own room for being their teacher for the past few years.

Harry was all too pleased to accept the small room at the end of the hall as his own. It was hardly a quarter of the size as the shared bedrooms, but it was his and no one else could take purchase there.

He couldn't tell Prudence that though, he thought it would be better if she discovered that side of him another way.

"No one is better than another. We all have flaws. We all have a good side and a bad side," she stated as though it were true.

Harry internally groaned. That was just plain wrong. Harry knew himself to be better than everyone else here and to be put on the same level as the rest of them made him nauseous. He knew the girl was naive, but that statement almost made him cringe outwardly.

She was an idealist, that much was obvious, perhaps he could put her moral compass to the test. He didn't often associate with a bleeding heart.

"Prudence, why don't you go get me another piece of toast from the kitchen?"

"I'm not your maid, besides, everyone gets one piece of toast, no extras. You know that," she returned. Headstrong but a strong sense of equality that could get in the way-

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise that came from a rowdy table of boys in the corner. Richard Hammond sat curled over laughing at something or other.

"You should go dump his milk on him," Harry offered, turning back around to her.

"What?! Why would I do that? That's wrong," she said exasperatedly.

"What if I told you that last month, he dumped juice all over Nancy O'Kelly's dress? Don't you think he would deserve it?" Harry inwardly smirked at the distressed expression that came over her face.

"Well...I- Yes, he would deserve it but-"

"But you're too scared of getting in trouble to get justice for Nancy? Whew...and I thought you two were friends," Harry could see the last sentence crack her. Her eyes got hard in defiance but her fists trembled in consternation. The knuckles on the hand clutching her spoon whitened.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Harry raised an eyebrow when she stood on wobbly knees and marched away from the table.

He thought she would storm back to her bedroom in anger and was more than shocked when her strides led her to Richard Hammond's table where she promptly picked up his tall glass of milk and poured it on his head.

So friendship and justice were her weak points.

Yes, Harry was very shocked. He was also very pleased, mostly because Richard Hammond never dumped juice on Nancy O'Kelly's dress and Prudence had just made her first enemies.

**April** **1941**

Harry had no opinion on the seasons. They came and went and he saw no reason to complain or marvel at the weather when he couldn't control it. It made little difference to him whether it was hot and humid out or if there were several feet of snow piling up the front steps.

That being said, Harry liked spring. It was the most practical season, he would say. Not piping hot like summer, but warm enough to comfortably go outside in just his uniform. The yard in the back of the orphanage began carrying in a floral scent from the freshly bloomed flowers. Some years, Harry would even keep a close eye on the birds that returned post winter to make nests in the backyard tree, for educational purposes of course. He could also appreciate the annual climax of the vernal equinox.

During most spring days, when it wasn't raining, one could most likely find Harry laying under the birch tree in the small yard of the orphanage, reading a book.

As of this moment in time, Harry lay on his back, on the soft, dry ground, with sharp eyes scanning a book he held just inches from his face. The sun flayed like zebra stripes across the parts of his long legs that weren't shaded by the tree branches. A light wind swept through the area and ruffled his hair.

_Crime_ _and_ _Punishment_ was this weeks choice for reading material. It was interesting enough and highly acclaimed around the city. Despite the torturous name, Harry found himself quickly taking after the protagonist, Rodion Raskolnikov. A dreadfully poor but intelligent and handsome man. Harry could see some similarities between them, minus the parts where he killed people of course.

He was nearly halfway through the book when a figure towered over him.

It was, as expected, the girl.

She was the only one who would dare interrupt him during his alone time. The other orphans knew better after the time Mary Clarke walked up to him whilst he was reading in the entertainment room. She was only there to ask him for his help with reading, but she still found all her dresses shredded the next day. There was no way they could prove it was Harry to get him in trouble, but they knew.

Prudence, however, hadn't been at the orphanage long enough to see one of Harry's stunts. She was innocent and unsuspecting.

"Hello, Harry," she said contently. "May I read with you?"

He looked up at her. Her hair as wild as it was curly, a book clutched to her chest, and eyes hopeful. After her incident with Richard, he has kindly allowed her to eat with him at meals and even entertained a conversation once or twice about an author they both enjoyed. At times, she even made valid points and observations.

"If you must," he replied lazily, turning back to his book. He didn't particularly _enjoy_ her company, but if she was silent and didn't fidget, he would tolerate it.

She sat too close to him. Her leg almost pressed against his; he could feel the heat radiating off her thigh and onto his. She didn't seem to realize, but he still scooted over a few inches with a grimace. She lay her head down next to his, hair fanning out on the grass and brushing his shoulder. She crossed her legs at the ankles and rested her book on her chest cover down, turning her head towards him.

" _Crime_ _and_ _Punishment_ , huh? I saw my father reading that once," she spoke.

"Alright," Harry replied offhandedly, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with that information.

"Is it good? Well, I assume it is or else you wouldn't be reading it. I've never read it, maybe you'll let me borrow it after you're done. I take really good care of books, I promise."

No, he certainly wouldn't. He didn't let people 'borrow' his books or anything else for that matter. If he let the dirty, little rats at the orphanage use his things, they'd be destroyed, missing, or stolen.

"I'm reading _Pygmalion_ ," she pronounced it wrong, "it's actually a play, a bit fantastical, but very good so far. Have you read it? Oh, you probably have. It came out as a motion picture a few years back, all the talk really-"

"Prudence?" Harry cut her off.

"Yes?" she blushed, sometimes she couldn't keep her lips from flapping.

"Cheese it and read your book."

She did. Not because he told her to, but because she came out here to read anyway. She was just trying to be polite.

Harry wasn't by any means, _glad_ to have Prudence back. She talked too much for his tastes and was too stubborn to just follow his orders.

The more she talked, the more he wished she would get adopted again.

It started getting dark about three silent hours later. He didn't realize they read right through dinner until he felt his stomach growling and inwardly cursed himself. When Harry could no longer make out the words on the pages he stood and went inside wordlessly.

The next day the same thing happened, except this time Prudence brought him a piece of toast slathered in orange marmalade. Harry didn't even really _like_ orange marmalade. He preferred strawberry jam, but he ate it nonetheless.

**May** **1941**

The weather got even nicer as time passed. Chances to read outside were few and far between near the end of April with all the rain soaking the ground, but May arrived with dry grass and clear skies and Harry welcomed it wholeheartedly. He was now spending nearly all of his free time outside reading instead of holed up in his room.

Now with the temperatures just reaching 18 degrees, he was more content than ever.

He also found Prudence next to him almost every time unless she was caught up with chores.

Sadly for him, she wasn't caught up with chores at the moment.

Every time she sat next to him, she tried to make small talk before Harry shut her down. It was almost like a game for her.

"Harry?" she asked, startling Harry out of his focus. He turned his head towards her but she was still staring at her opened book.

Her eyes burned into the same spot for ten minutes before she decided to speak. Once they got immersed in reading, a word wasn't spoken between them, but she couldn't concentrate on the words with her thoughts running rampant in her head.

"What?"

"I have a proposition."

"...Which is?"

"I think we should be friends." her voice wavered on the last word.

He considered her for a moment. No one else had ever proposed friendship to him.

"And what would that entail?"

She took a moment to think. "Well, we would talk without you telling me to shut up, we would play games together, read together..." her explanation trailed off. She supposed girl-boy friendships were the same as girl-girl friendships, though she didn't think Harry would agree to playing with dolls or doing each other's hair.

Harry's immediate thought was 'over my dead body', but then he pondered it.

If he agreed to be her 'friend', he'd have to sit through her talks on equality, dreadful romantic novels, and her obnoxious stares when she thought he wasn't looking.

Then another thought sparked in his mind: Prudence came from a rich family. Surely she would inherit _something_ from her parents when she got older. If not, perhaps her family were friends with some higher-up people who had connections. People who would love to help out their late colleague's orphan daughter and her friend. Connections were important to someone like Harry. 

He also considered having a right-hand man. He would have someone to blame things on, a personal scapegoat who couldn't tattle on him in the name of 'friendship'. Someone to assist him in executing his schemes against the other orphans. Someone to be his confidant or better yet, his _foil_.

Oh yes, he could make this work in his favor.

But first, he would need a security deposit. Harry Styles was, after all, the master of spinning things in his favor.

"Do you have any money here?" he asked the girl blankly who was staring at him with apprehensive eyes.

"Umm...some," she said, confused. What did money have to do with being friends?

"Can you go get it quick?"

"...Sure," she hesitantly agreed and ran up to her room, making sure no one was there before reaching her hand under her bed.

She pulled off the old jumper that kept her piggy bank hidden and flipped it over. She wondered how much to bring. Surely not all of it, right? She pulled out a single one-pound note, 11 shillings, and eightpence. It was almost half of her small fortune and she was sure it would be enough.

When she returned outside, Harry's back was propped up against the tree with the crown of his head pressed into the trunk, staring at the falling sun.

"Got it," she declared, patting her pocket and taking a seat next to him.

"Hand it over," said Harry while holding his hand out.

She paused. Maybe this is how boys made friends with each other; trading.

"And what will you give me?" she asked, sliding the money into his palm.

He eyed it greedily, he had never held this much money before. He could buy _brand_ _new_ books with this much money or the good chocolate candies. He might even be able to afford a whole box of second-hand books. By orphan standards, he was holding a bag of gold in his hands.

"I'll surprise you," Harry replied with a sniff, still counting the money.

"Alright," she accepted it. She was excited about what he had to offer her. She hoped it was a book- it may not be a _fair_ trade, but it would probably have more sentimental value than a few shillings.

Over the next few days, she tried to be patient, really tried. But whenever Harry was around, she rocked on her heels and bit the inside of her cheeks in anticipation.

By the fifth day, she began to doubt him.

By the sixth day, she realized she wasn't getting any surprize.

By the seventh day, she forgave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please let me know what you think xx


	4. The Honey Bee

**June 1941**

Honey bees by nature are adaptable and social creatures, Prudence was sure she had read that somewhere. They live in colonies with a queen, thousands of workers, and a few male drones. They make nests from wax secreted from their abdominal glands and collect pollen and nectar in the spring to make honey which humans have been harvesting for hundreds of years. A colony can survive without foraging for several years by living only on food reserves and huddling in large, compacted masses during winter.

Like other insects, honey bees behave defensively when intruders are near, guarding the entrance to their nests. However, honey bees are able to sting only once. Because stingers contain barbs and are attached to the worker's intestines, they detach from the stinging bee's body after attacking a victim. While a honey bee will die soon after transferring its venom, pheromones secreted during the attack will alarm and stimulate other worker bees to attack as well.

There was a honey bee trapped in her window.

Stuck between the mesh screen and the glass pane. Perhaps the bee, like Prudence, was trying to escape the sweltering heat of late June by searching for refuge within the room. _Tough luck_ , thought Prudence. The orphanage was like a sauna in the summer, trapping in all the heat and melting everything inside. Making bare thighs stick to chairs, giving the matron a blood-red face, and forcing all the children outside in hope for a breeze to come by and cool them off.

No, the bee certainly wouldn't be finding any asylum in here.

Not that the bee even made it inside her room anyway. If it had, Prudence would surely not be studying it so calmly; mapping the small, translucent wings and stripped fuzzy body. No, she probably would have left the room in a flurry, asking one of the older girls to dispose of it (and no, Prudence was not afraid of insects, she just didn't see any reasoning in putting herself at risk to be stung).

But for now, she watched as the bee climbed across the woven wire and looked for an exit. Prudence wasn't sure where it climbed in through, a small hole in one of the corners seemed most likely. _If it could find a way in, it could find a way out_ , she mused.

For now, they were the only two creatures in the cramped, suffocating room. And while Prudence could leave the room, she didn't think walking around the orphanage aimlessly was much more favorable.

Harry more or less told Prudence to leave him alone so he could finish his book and Nancy still hadn't completed her chores for the day, so Prudence was on her own. She didn't mind it much, she considered herself fairly independent as an only child, but having already reread all her favorite books she brought to the orphanage, she was getting restless.

Prudence went back over to her bed and laid down. She stared at the grey ceiling, picturing patterns in the cracks and thought about her new companion.

Prudence wasn't quite sure what to make of Harry yet and she was more than a little confused by him. He agreed to be friends with her, but still didn't let her get more than a few words in at meals and he disagreed with her about nearly everything.

She supposed she should have expected that, from what she gathered about Harry, he didn't have any other friends here. She wasn't sure when he came to the orphanage, but since she arrived, Prudence only ever noticed Harry associating with herself. In fact, the other kids avoided him most times. Nancy seemed almost scared of him even.

Not that she really blamed them. Harry was an intense character. Since she first met him on Christmas Eve, he was intimidating, rude, and uncompassionate. It could be that he was just a ten-year-old boy (or was he eleven now?) which Prudence knew from experience could be nasty beyond belief, or maybe it was just a Harry Styles thing.

Prudence saw Harry as a challenge, an enigma, but she could also see how similar they were. Like Prudence, Harry was bossy and overly intelligent. They both preferred a silent day to read than a day playing with the other orphans. They both wanted things their way and didn't like to compromise. They were both hot-headed and strong-willed. 

She knew these traits would probably clash at some point or another, or maybe they already had, but she embraced the challenge.

-

**July 1941**

They were laying under the big birch tree. Prudence's head rested against the bulky trunk, wild curls protecting her neck from being scratched. Harry knew she would have a crook in her neck later from the weird angle but didn't bother to mention it.

"Harry, what do you want to do when you grow up?"

Harry would've rolled his eyes at the question if it hadn't been on his mind recently too.

"I'm going to rule the world," he said with all the indifference of somebody filing taxes.

Prudence noted that he stated this as a fact instead of a sanguine wish that came from others and Prudence believed him. Maybe it was her youthful naivety, but Harry ruling the world didn't seem that far-fetched. He was the most intelligent friend she ever had, was unbelievably mature for his age, and could be devilishly charismatic when he wanted something. She didn't question his ability to lead the masses.

He would be a strong and fearless leader no doubt, but Prudence did sometimes think Harry disregarded the emotions of others. He was wholly unempathetic and that isn't exactly a trait she would want in a leader.

It excited Prudence to hear that Harry had such high aspirations. She wondered if Harry considered her in his future plans. She would support him in whatever profession he went in be it ruling the world or working as a shop boy. She would stand by him because they were friends.

"Why don't you start with prime minister?" she suggested. It wasn't ruling the world per se, but it was a step in the right direction. Prudence imagined helping Harry with his campaign, she would be his right-hand woman.

Harry huffed. He thought about that already and decided it would probably be the easiest way to reach his long-term goal. He also contemplated going the complete opposite route and opposing the government entirely, starting with a small support group and growing from there, but getting people to listen to an orphan would be hard enough. He only needed a few of the higher-ups to put in a good word for him and he could shimmy his way into their ranks. He had a few plans on how to make this happen, but no way to execute them yet.

"I considered that too," he said and left it at that. His plans were his and he didn't need some eight-year-old (or was she nine?) interfering. And only to derail _her_ plans of _his_ future, he asked, "What about you Prudence? What do you want to do?"

"I want to learn everything," Prudence didn't even hesitate, she knew this fact since she could even think. 

Prudence already mapped out her life's plan. The first step was going to college, after all, if she was going to learn everything, it seemed like a good place to start. Step two was advocating for women's rights. Once Prudence got on this topic, there was no going back, Harry learned that first hand. He once sat through Prudence's 10-minute lecture on how Cambridge University still didn't allow women to take full degrees. Harry would mentally roll his eyes at her indignation but didn't say anything.

Harry studied her wordlessly. He could respect the declaration even though it was a fruitless feat. He could see the determination in her eyes as she looked up at him to see his reaction. It wasn't possible to learn everything, but he knew she would try and probably get as close as any. He nodded his head appreciatively. It was an admirable goal, he must admit.

She was more his equal than he ever knew.

-

Prudence was apprehensive on adoption days ever since her adoptive family sent her back and it was written all over her face.

When Harry stepped out of his room this morning to go line up, he noticed her loitering outside of her room at the opposite end of the hallway, putting off the inevitable. A few weeks ago, Harry would've been all too happy to see Prudence get adopted again, but now that they were established associates, he supposed he couldn't just allow her to leave him.

Harry wouldn't have his brand new foil slip out of his hands so easily.

A mischievous idea grew behind his eyes as he strode down the dark hallway towards her.

The creak of the floorboards underfoot alerted Prudence and she quickly spun to face him. Her wild hair—which Harry started referring to as "the eighth wonder of the world" in his mind because really, normal hair didn't defy gravity like that—smacked her in the face and stuck to her lips.

"Oh, Harry, it's you! I thought you were Miss Smith at first," she breathed out, pulling strands of hair from her mouth. She stood uneasily in front of him, shifting from one foot to the other as if the floor was burning her and absentmindedly picking at the cuticles around her nails.

As soon as she said this, Harry heard the familiar loud click of the matron's low heels causing an earthquake on the wooden stairs. At this, Prudence's eyes widened and she huffed.

"Bugger," she muttered, preparing to succumb to her fate when Harry wrapped a large hand around her wrist and roughly tugged her into the cleaning cupboard near her room. He pulled the door shut as quietly as he could and turned to her, covering her mouth with his hand to silence her. Unfortunately, Prudence was in the middle of gasping and consequently sucked his palm into her mouth.

Harry grimaced and pulled his hand away, wiping her spit on his pants. He put his pointer finger over his mouth, motioning for her to be quiet. Although confused, she nodded and watched as Harry softly pressed his ear against the door. The closet was compact and dark. It smelled so overwhelmingly of cleaning supply that she began to feel lightheaded.

She heard the click of the matron's heels pass the closet and go into her shared room to collect her roommates. Harry's hand tightened on her left wrist, which he still hadn't let go, and hurried her out of the closet behind him. Running on their tiptoes, they made it down the stairs and into the kitchen without being seen by the other orphans or Miss Smith.

Without words, he led her to a small door in the kitchen that she never opened before. She always assumed it was a pantry and had no business going inside, but apparently she was wrong. A set of steep stairs led downwards to a pitch-black room.

"Harry! Why are we going down there?" she asked nervously as he ushered her down the creaking steps, closing the door behind them. Darkness encompassed the room and Prudence couldn't see even a millimeter in front of her. She stumbled on a few steps and tried to grasp a railing that wasn't there. Logically, she knew that he wasn't leading her down here to hurt her, but she wasn't exactly thinking logically right now. Besides, Harry was scary, she didn't know what he was capable of.

"Har-" she began but was cut off by his annoyed hushing.

Once they reached the bottom of the steps, a small, orange lightbulb clinked on and she could finally see.

And oh, it was just the orphanage's boiler room.

"Why are we down here Harry?" she asked him as he pulled her to a corner in the back and finally let go of her, now surely bruised, wrist.

"We are here because you don't want to get adopted," he replied as if that explained everything. She raised an eyebrow at him waiting for further details. He rolled his eyes but continued, "You are going to stay down here and not make a noise until adoption time is over. Okay?"

"Why aren't you staying down here too?"

"Because I have to tell Miss Smith that you're sick. If we're both missing from the line-up, she'll get suspicious," he explained but of course, Prudence still had questions.

"Why don't I just pretend to be sick and tell Miss Smith myself?" she wondered because surely that would be much less trouble.

"Because I can tell that you're a terrible liar. She'd see right through you," he said matter-of-factly and Prudence glared at him but didn't argue. He was right, Prudence's parents always knew when she was lying.

"But what if you get adopted and-" she started but again was cut off by him.

"I won't. Now, enough questions. I'll be back after they leave. Stay down here until I come get you. Understand?" he demanded while giving her a look that made her feel like she was being scolded.

"Understood," she replied. He gave her one last hard look before taking off up the stairs and closing the door behind him. Prudence took a seat on the floor with her back resting against the cement walls.

The first thing she noticed about the room was that it was hot. The early July heat made it unbearable. Every second longer she stayed in it, the more that she felt it suffocating her. Her face rapidly flushed a dark red and her hands began to get clammy.

She lolled her head back against the wall taking deep breaths. She really hoped today's adoption time was short, she was already starting to sweat.

Not even 30 minutes in, she rode up the skirt of her pinafore and pulled down her knee socks hoping to find some solace for her legs on the cool floor. A thin layer of sweat moistened her whole body.

She tried to distract herself as the time passed slowly in this mock-hell. Drawing patterns in the dust on the floor, counting the number of rat droppings she saw in the corners and going over her multiplication tables.

Two hours later, she heard the door opening again and shot up. She was dripping sweat and raving mad.

"Harry! What took you so long?!" Prudence questioned, standing up and pulling her soggy dress back down.

"A bunch of families came this time, they took forever," he responded with partial truth. After meeting five potential adopters, he went back to his room and forgot about Prudence for nearly half an hour. Even after he remembered, he was really in no rush to retrieve her.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but he encased her wrist again, clicked off the light, and led her out of the cellar. His cool hand was a welcome addition. It felt like ice on her steaming skin. Her curls still stuck to the back of her neck and she could feel sweat dribbling down her collarbone and back.

"So Miss Smith believed you?" Prudence asked out of breath, following closely behind him.

"Of course she did, I'm her favorite," Harry said smugly.

Prudence could've cried in relief at the cool air that encompassed her once they reached the top of the stairs. The muggy July air never felt so refreshing.

She was debating between thanking Harry and yelling at him.

She did neither.

-

Prudence felt much better after taking a cold shower post yesterday's boiler room episode. It completely cooled her off, no pun intended.

The weather was much better today. It was less humid and the sharp wind cooled her down and ruffled her hair.

She was headed to the base of the tree to read with Harry, when she noticed a couple of orphans waltzing towards her.

She furrowed her brows. Two of them were 'students' in her class that she knew she'd never spoken a single word to and the other two were older kids that she recognized from around the orphanage. The younger ones were Georgie Argell and James Schubert, both bad at math. She was unsure of the older boys' names, but they were both lanky brunettes. The one on the right had brown eyes and a sharp jawline and the one on the left had green eyes and bushy eyebrows. 

"Oh look at that hair Sammy. Jesus, that's just nature being cruel," one of the older boys said to his friend while chuckling at his own joke. Prudence's cheeks flamed as they mocked her.

"Ya didn't look this beat when ya came here with your parents. But I guess that's what happens to rich folk when they lose their monies. They become bartled able grable," said the boy called Sammy with a heavy Irish accent and his cronies laughed along with him.

Prudence's mouth dropped open at their cruelty. What had she done to them to deserve this? Nasty boys. She had opened her mouth to bite back a scathing remark when Georgie spoke up.

"Thought you were just visiting the orphans huh? And where are your parents now broom head?"

Prudence's throat tightly closed up and she felt tears burning her eyes. How dare they? 

"And what about your parents, Argell? You've no family either," Prudence quipped, "just get out of here."

They formed a semi-circle in front of her and Prudence felt her book being plucked from underneath her arm by Georgie.

"Watcha reading Prudy? A romance novel perhaps?" James piped in, taking the book from Georgie and rifling through the pages. They all cooed sarcastically at his comment.

"At least I _know_ how to read Schubert. You still don't know when to use the right form of there," she bit, extending an arm to grab her book. James glared at her and pulled the book out of her reach.

"You'll pay for that you know?" he promised, tossing the book to one of the taller, older boys who caught it and probably creased about 30 pages in the meantime.

"Give it back," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot indignantly.

"I don't think we will Prudence," the boy remarked, tossing the book in the air back to Georgie.

She looked desperately at Harry for help but saw him focused on his book instead. Prudence could've screamed when she saw that. She's his friend, he should be defending her!

She turned back to her bullies and gave them her mightiest glare (she truthfully just looked like a baby lion).

They played catch with her precious book for about 20 more seconds before deciding it wasn't fun anymore. Prudence decided that they were probably the worst bullies ever, but was partly grateful for their short attention span.

James threw the novel directly at her face, clunking her in the forehead and hitting the ground.

Prudence waited until they walked back inside to join Harry. She looked at the creased pages in her book and felt the sore spot on her forehead and tears welled up in her eyes again.

"Why didn't you help me, Harry?" she asked, voice cracking.

He finally glanced up from his book as if he didn't even notice the scene that just played out a meter in front of him nor the fact that the girl was on the edge of sobbing.

"It's not my fault you're incapable of defending yourself," he told her, returning to his book because really it wasn't. He noticed the other kids keeping clear of Prudence when he was near, but when he wasn't, she was easy pickings.

Prudence wouldn't last a week on her own in the real world if she couldn't stand up for herself and fight back. Honestly, Harry was surprised it had taken the other orphans this long to target her. She would have to learn the hard way just like Harry did; just like the rest of these kids did.

"I thought we were friends and friends..."

At this, he removes his eyes from his book and stares intensely at her. She hesitates, throat contracting at the look he gives her but continues on with a heavy breath.

"Friends defend each other! Friends don't let their friends get bullied! I don't know what friends you've had in the past, but by the way you treat me, I would guess that you had none," her voice got louder and higher. "You should have stepped in and got rid of them and I know you can because I can tell that they're scared of you! A real friend would have told them to leave me alone. If you don't want to be my friend-"

"Prudence, calm down, those kids pick on everyone. If I had defended you now, the next time they caught you alone, it would've been worse. You need to learn how to stand up for yourself. Only a weak person gets someone to fight their battles for them. You're not weak are you Prudence?" Harry asked in a soothing tone. She covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. She felt snot and tears running down her face and she didn't want him to see her hiccuping sobs.

She shook her head and sniffled. She hated that he was semi-right again. She didn't think there was anything wrong with wanting her friend to back her up, but she didn't want him to think she was 'weak'.

"Prudence, look at me," Harry interrupted her thoughts and she didn't realize how much she was still crying nor how out of breath she was. She turned back to him and saw that his eyes were strangely comforting and warm. "Take a deep breath. Go take a shower, read a chapter of your book, and have a nap before dinner. Okay?"

Harry didn't really know how to comfort people, especially not crying children, so this was all the advice he could give her. Harry had never been comforted before and the thought of being the comforter was unnatural to him.

Apparently, Prudence found some comfort in his voice because she nodded her head and took a deep breath, turning to go back inside. Once she reached the door, she craned her neck over her shoulder and saw him standing in the same place, staring blankly ahead. 

After a long and hot shower that helped clear her head, Prudence looked out the window of her room and saw that Harry resumed his backyard reading. She sighed.

At the bottom of her window, between the mesh screen and glass pane, she noticed the same creature that had been there all week and teared up again.

The honey bee got trapped in a spider's web. She tried lifting the window to help it, but they were sealed shut.

Prudence cried as she watched it struggle to get free while a small black spider quickly descended upon it.

The spider encased the honeybee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I'm so sorry that took so long omg. I actually really like this chapter (probably because of all the symbolism) and you get to see a snippet of manipulative harry near the end. We'll get to the adventure parts of the fic soon so I'm looking forward to writing that. I really hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please let me know by commenting, kudosing, and sharing it. thank you!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Please leave reviews and let me know if I've made any errors or if you've liked the story. 
> 
> This story is also available on Wattpad: https://my.w.tt/z9P3Z3xhnY


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